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But I catch it.
“Little flower…”
“Nope. You don’t get to little flower your way out of this conversation.”
I walk toward him, my heels clicking against the stone.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
He finally turns.
His piercing magenta eyes are darker than usual, the crimson flecks burning faintly beneath the moonlight.
“I nearly killed him.”
I stop a few feet away.
“I know.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know that too.”
His jaw tightens.
“You should fear me.”
I laugh.
Not because it’s funny.
Because it’s so completely ridiculous.
“Vidar, I watched you spend twenty minutes trying to rescue a butterfly from the flower shop because you were afraid of damaging its wings.”
“That is different.”
“Is it?”
His expression hardens.
“Wrath is what I am, Wren. It is not a temper I can simply set aside. It lives in my blood. It answers when I call.”
“Then stop calling it every time someone annoys you.”
He gives me a look.
“That is not amusing.”
“A little amusing.”
“Wren.”
I step closer.
“I don’t want you to stop being who you are.”
He stares at me.
